she wasn’t pigeon toed so much
as knock kneed
and I followed behind her
stealthily. I mostly never
wear shoes with soles
that make sound
and I’m constantly sneaking
peeks at myself
reflected in the glass
of the windows
of businesses.

me- I can’t even keep
from losing my glasses, me –
I sit here listening
to the knock – kneed girl talk
about herself
before class. And talk. She
actually won’t stop talking
about how she just missed
the mark
of genius, but how
instead
her little brother got it.
She’s waiting for her
transcripts from Reed. She’s
cross legged, wagging her foot
in a bubble-gum pink
sweater and skinny jeans.
She says she needs
to graduate
for chrissakes.

me – last weekend I went
driving, out to the country
trying to spread grief, longer
and thinner behind me like
not enough mayonnaise
on bread for a sandwich, just far
enough to make it back without
falling asleep.

he – interrupts
to inform me that I don’t
talk enough and I need
to speak more
loudly.

I followed her again
after class through the rain
me – in converse
and no umbrella
hers – black with fish
all over it, salmon
fish swimming
through downtown Portland
and rain boots
with yellow tops
on them.

I stood in the cover
of the parking garage
and watched her disappear, knees
careening off each other
around the corner, her
shape reflected off
the window
of the building.

His bones twice
the vastness his
chest a bone yard
plucking each
with my finger
print tips next
his beard growing
pepper brush bristles
his voice I can’t touch crystal-
lined by his life cookie
cut by our love
amber bone box resin
made mettle
by us.